


Against the Stars

by BioBae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BioBae/pseuds/BioBae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout all of Thedas she’s been declared the Herald, the savior of their world. And yet, she is still haunted by a past that is catching up to her. [Ocs warning. There will be more than just my Inquisitor] [On hiatus. Going through some editing/major plot changes]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> [On hiatus. Going through some editing/major plot changes]

I am afraid to take another step, for it would mean leaving the only life I had ever known. I stare out into the distance. The familiar forest is still, quiet, with white flurries falling to the ground. The trees were still sleeping, with their bark the color of ash and with no new leaves. It would be months before spring swept the land with her warmth. My hands grip the bag strap, my eyes glazed and unfocused, and still quite unsure of what was happening. 

I turn halfway around and see the rest of my kinsman watching me, most of them neutral and steady. However, there were some who looked just as confused as I did, and perhaps even a few who were sympathetic. In the front of the crowd of twenty stood a woman, her features mimicking the season surrounding them: snow-white hair and eyes, her posture rigid as ice, and staring at me with a glacial expression. The Keeper. Her eyes meet mine for but a brief moment and I quickly look down at my feet, my hands clutching my bag even tighter than before. 

“Keeper, is this really necessary?” said a towering figure next to her, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “She is but a mere child.”

The Keeper does not reply, merely stands up straighter, her hands folded behind her back. The tension in the vicinity seems to rise, like a starved cobra lifting its head, ready to strike its vulnerable prey. 

“Go,” said the woman speaks directly to me. “Go find your own life, da’len.”

“Keeper?” the man says. 

“The Evanuris have given me a blessing, Falon. There are rules that we must abide by. Every clan that wishes to remain true to the ancient ways keep but three mages in their midst. We have three. We do not need more than that.”

The moment she finished her speech, I knew the crowd’s doubts were ebbing away. They were, after all, Clan Arthas. The only true Dalish Clan, with a Keeper who not only protected them all from dreaded wolf, but from the rest of the Thedas’s corrupted ways. This is what I had been taught since I was a little. Trust The Keeper. For she has seen the wild, destructive world around us. She knows what is at stake. We must give her our loyalty. Our strength. 

There was no hope. One last time, my eyes ventured into the familiar faces staring at me. Most of them were now content casting a child into the wintery wilds, with nothing but a pack of food and furs. However, there were still three pairs of eyes that looked at my fate with sadness and remorse. A little girl, with hair the color of straw and eyes too big for her face. Her lips quivered as she buried her head into her mother’s shoulders. A teenaged boy stood close them, his bright eyes glistening and his arms crossed. With a free hand, his mother gripped her son’s shoulder, squeezing it. The young man’s face was unwavering, obviously upset by what was happening but was unable to do anything to stop it. 

“Where’s Minaeve goin’?” The little girl all but shouted, breaking the silence of the crowd. The Keeper’s focus broke as she turned her attention to the family. The mother, her eyebrows furrowed and lips thin, pulled her daughter’s face from her shoulder. 

“Quill, not now, be silent.” 

“Listen to your mother, asa'var'lin,” The Keeper says, her tones cool. “Should you find yourself joining your precious cousin.”

Quill looked ready to jump to my defense, but her mother clamped a hand over her mouth, effectively silencing her. The boy continued to stare at me, unsettled by the situation behind him. And in one last fleeting moment, I remembered the happier times spent in spring, where I taught Quill to catch frogs, how her brother taught me how to create fire, and how their mother kissed me goodnight. And then the moment was gone. I took a step forward, and found, hands still tightly gripping the bag, running into the safety and open-arms of the wilderness.


	2. The Mark, the Burn and the Elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [On hiatus. Going through some editing/major plot changes]

Chapter One  
The Mark, the Burn and the Elf

“Five gold says we’re going to fight a Desire,” Varric said. Our companion, Solas, looks neutral about the comment.

“I am not sure as to why you find gambling on to be enjoyable, Master Tethras.” he replied.

Varric rubbed his fingers together. “Just a little something to make the mission a bit more interesting, that’s all.”

“Master Dennet said if we could help secure his lands, he would supply the Inquisition with horses.” Cassandra, the woman leading the group, said in a stern voice.

“Stating the obvious or did you think we forgot?” Varric replied.

“No, I’m just reminding you why we’re here. And making bets is not one of them.”

“Oh, okay, so you are willingly to go up to ten, seeker?” She snorted. He turns around, looking up at me. “What about you, Doe?” I stop, inclining my head towards him. He’s been calling me Doe for the past few days. Did he not hear my name when I told him?

“My name is Quill.” I said, slowly. Common was not my first language. In fact, I barely spoke it. Deshanna had tried to teach me several times, but I found that she smacked me more often with a book than I was able to say human words. Ever since the conclave, I made the effort to become better but my accent was still thick.

“I believe Master Varric knows that.” Solas smirks. “He seem to have the habit of coming up with...peculiar nicknames.”

“You mad, chuckles?” Varric laughs.

I lean on my staff, and I turn my gaze over to Solas. He frowns but quickly translates what had transpired in elvish. I frown. “Cassandra is, uh, right. We are here to do some…thing? Something...um...important. Not talk about…the demon.”

I walk past the pair, cautiously stepping down the steep incline of the hill and catching up to Cassandra at the riverbank. Varric exchanges look with the elf. Solas merely raises his eyebrows.

“I think she meant to say talking.” Varric says as they follow us down into the Gorge. Our mission really did seem simple in comparison to what Master Dennet had been asking from us before: kill the demons corrupting wolves, and securing the farm by building watchtowers all over the Hinterlands. At least today all we had to go was close a rift—that was something I had become familiar with. 

It’s not far from us now. I can see rift now, hanging in mid-air, giving off an eerie green glow. I know they’re not beneficial to us, but I’m transfix by it. The rifts were haunting and fascinating at the same time, like something from a painting. However, my thoughts are interrupted by Cassandra, who is cautiously taking out her sword. The rest of us ready our weapons. Her gaze steady, Cassandra takes on step toward the rift and a sharp pain in my hand indicates that the fight is about to begin. There’s a crackling sound, and demons burst out from the green tear in sky.

I felt both apprehension and terror fill me. My breathing become more ragged but I knew there was nothing I could do. I have to close the rift.  
I held my staff close to my chest, panic keeping my legs were locked. Again? This happens every time you go near a rift. My companions rushed forward, charging at the demons with a sort of fierceness I could never hope to have. Cassandra craved her sword into the nearest monster, its blood spilling to the ground. I couldn’t help but think about how cool they looked and how utterly pathetic was I was. But I still had one job I could do. I closed my eyes, and lifted my right hand up and attempted to make a connection with the rift.

My actions were interrupted when I felt heat creeping up my back. A Rage demon was right behind me, lifting its long, lethal arms high into the air. My eyes widen, my hand still pointing towards the rift. A quick glance around the battlefield revealed that my companions were still fighting their own demons. Damn. Too many. In a split second, I rip my hand away, gripping my staff and rolled onto the ground, barely missing his attack. He slams his heavy arms down, their weight causing the ground to shake. Lifting my head up, I brush my hair to the side, watching as the demon is momentarily confused at my sudden disappearance. I took this advantage to scramble up to my feet, pain ripping through my legs. The demon returned its attention back to me, gliding through the grass, setting everything he past ablaze.  
Fire? I don’t realize it, but I’m trembling, walking backwards, the staff pointed right at him. But nothing happened. Instead, my eyes begin to water, a string of images flashing through my mind. Fire…burns…laughter. Fire...burns...I cough. I feel as if smoke is filling my lungs. I can barely breathe...I...

I close my eyes, pinching my skin. I take in a deep, steady breath and thoughts cease. I tighten my grip on the staff and a shimmer of blue light steadily flows from it, making the humid, summer air suddenly cool and fresh. The Rage’s flames molt under the frostiness of the ice, its body turning from a red to black to blue. My hands are still unsteady but somehow, I freeze the demon.

I’m so amazed at what I had done that I didn’t notice that someone was behind me. Within seconds, I feel something whiz by, sending the ends of my hair flying. The rage demon is treated to an electrical spell, cracking and finishing him off. Shaking my head, I refocus on the rift. I reform the connection and within seconds, the rift is finally closed. My breaths come out, low and shallow, and I see the rest of the demons ebbing away, being pulled back into the Fade. I inwardly smile, wiping the sweat from my forehead.

“Maker’s breath, there were so many.” I hear Cassandra say in the distance but she sounds pleased. I’m happy to hear this. Although her attitude towards me has changed significantly since I was declared the Herald, I still couldn’t forget how she treated me when we first met. A prisoner, guilty of crimes I had no idea I committed. Looking back, I can comprehend why she had acted the way she did. However, the stigma was still there, thus I made an effort to please her.

“And still many, many more to go, seeker.” Varric remarks. I nearly jump when I look down and see him standing next to me. I’m still surprised about how short he is.

“No need to jump out of your pants, Doe.” He says to me.

I jump again when Solas’s voice comes up from behind. “It would seem we are making progress.” He catches my eye, but I look away, habitually rubbing my right arm.

“Are you injured?” He says in the common language.

The question takes me by surprise and I’m pleased that I understand him. “N-no.”

“You were touching your arm. Is the mark causing you pain?”

I give him a dirty look, and speak in rapid elvish. “You have seen my arms, right? Tell me, do you think?”

Varric furrows his eyebrows. I’m not sure if he understands elvish, but he must have picked up my tone for he said, “No need to sound so hostile.” He turns his head toward Solas. “What did she say?”

Solas rolls his eyes and translates. Varric laughs. “Well, he did keep your mark from spreading but I don’t think she needs your help in the healing department, Chuckles,” he jabs his thumb to the bag strapped to my waist. “Doe’s a bit of a healer from what I notice.”

Thankfully, our conversation was cut short as Cassandra announces we were heading back to camp. I secure my staff and bag, purposefully lagging behind the three. I fall further behind whenever I noticed an interesting plant or herb. Haven, with its cold, unwelcoming weather, was not exactly a place bountiful in healing herbs. The most common plant I find there was the sturdy Elfroot. However, the Hinterlands, with tree-clothed mountains, green fertile fields and warm weather, are chalk full of Blood Lotus, Embrium, Spindleweed and the occasional Royal Elfroot and Crystal Grace. I enjoyed coming to this place, even if it meant fighting demons. It reminded me of my homeland in the Free Marches. So much so, that I thought fighting demons was a small price to pay to cure my homesickness.

As the sun descends into the horizon, two waxing moons illuminate the sky, turning the fields from sunset orange to a pale silver. Cassandra and Varric are bickering, though it seems somewhat more good natured (or at least from Varric), while Solas is contemplating. Once again, I’m a little ways away from the rest. I’m fascinated by a large, bell shaped blossom of a pale pink with leaves delicate to the touch. Against the moonlight, the petals sparkle and it captures my attention even more. 

_My father’s words ring in my ears. “If you stare at something for too long, your eyes are going to get bigger, da’len.”_

I smile a little. As a small child, I took his words very seriously, even if I was not sure exactly what he meant. I felt there was something deep and tangible about them. He just had a way of talking that made him easy to listen to. Perhaps this why mother fell in love with him. I furrow my eyebrows at the thought of her. She says that I remind her of him. I’m not sure if it’s because of the way we speak, but I know I look like him: the same tan skin, the wild straw colored hair, square face, sloped nose and light brown eyes. On him, they made him appear unique, beautiful even. On me, they were average at best.

He had been the Clan’s Halla Tender. It was not a glamorous role but he took a lot of pride in it. And when he noticed that I had an intense interest in his work, he would let me accompany him. I often found myself trotting behind him, my little legs unable to keep up with his long strides. He would then smile and pick me up. These were my earliest memories. My father watching me as I played with the Halla, shrieking with laughter whenever they tried to nudge me with their wet noses. He taught me how to tend to their wounds, feed and groom them.

_“They seem to like her,” our kinsmen would remark. “That’s quite unusual for them to take to someone so quickly.”_

_“They listened to me for the same reason they like her,” My father used to say. He would lift his hands up and twist his wrists. “We’ve got gentle hands. They don’t like it when you’re too rough or too soft with them. Halla are picky like that.”_

As I got older, I started to become more involved with his work, eventually being able to handle the workload myself. And once I had learned about my love for animals, I learned about my passion for herbalism. Although my father knew some ways to treat a wound, his methods were ineffective. Often times, the Halla would stay sick and linger on as best. My birth clan was not exactly a place bustling with supplies and they would take care of their own before attending to the Halla. Thus, I took upon myself to learn more.

Through several trials and tribulations, I taught myself about plants that could heal and hurt. A part of it came from growing up half-wild in the forest with Dalish elves. This teaches one about how plants grow through sheer common-sense. Also, came with it the desire to learn and keep learning. When I came to know all the plants that grew in our little corner of the world, I still learned from the books I had. And when I came into my magic, I dedicated my time into learning how to heal the sick.

“Herald, you are falling behind again.” I’m snapped out of my thoughts, and I lift my chin up to see Solas standing above me.

“Ir abelas.” I say in small voice, hunching my shoulders.

“There is no need to apologize,” he replies. “May I ask what you were doing?”

“Picking herbs.”

I am putting the herbs in my bag when he asks. “Is that for the Inquisition?”

“Does it matter?” I bypass him, my hand rubbing my arm again. He waits before following me. 

Solas may be an elf, but he didn’t act like the elves I had known. (Well, when have I ever been associated with ‘normal’ elves? Even the Lavellan had their quirks. And Arthas, well, the less said about them the better.). He always surprised me, such as when I asked him his opinions about elven culture. After learning he had been the one who stabilized the mark, I tried to be friendly with him (or as friendly as I could be). I went into the conversation, without really thinking, assuming that our common heritage would be way for me connect with someone.

_“I would have thought you would be interested in sharing your opinions of Elven culture. You are Dalish, are you not?” He started, his tone cool._

_“I’m not sure what that has to do with anything,” I replied, immediately growing defensive at his injury. “What’s your problem with them?”_

_“They are children acting out stories they have heard wrong and repeated a thousand times.”_

_I inwardly grimace. “Care to explain?”_

_“While they passing stories, mangling details, I walk the Fade. I have seen things they have not.”_  
_I frown. The Fade? When I don’t respond, he doesn’t look surprised. He probably was expecting me to feel a little insulted by this comment. Or maybe he was regretting it. I couldn’t tell as his expression remained passive._

_I cross my arms and say in small voice. “When I with my clan, I used to teach the children. Like, telling them stories and about the gods. And I found that they had the capability of learning much. They can comprehend concepts and ideas that even adults have sometimes have trouble understanding. There is power in that.”_  
_His face, changes ever so slightly, but it’s still not a real indication how he feels. He seems more interested in fact he has done something to trigger such a personal statement from me. Up to this point, I had not really spoken to anyone. I locked myself in my room, guilt ridden for what I had done. Still, his words had shook me in a way no one else’s had done so far._

_“What is your opinion then?”_

_The question took me by surprise. “My opinion? I—don’t really have one...”_

_He furrows his eyebrows. “You do not have an opinion about your own people?”_

_“I don’t think about being Dalish, I just am!” I hug my arms tighter to my chest. “Look, my point is, that if you are willingly to compare them to children, you have far underestimated them.”_

~*~

When we return to Redcliffe Farm, camp is the usual affair. The tents have already been set up and there are Inquisition soldiers patrolling the area. Cassandra is sitting on a crate, reading a report that had been handed to her. Varric was by the fire, the glow making his face appear far more youthful than it normally did. He was adjusting his unusual crossbow, and Solas was watching him, curious about the progress. I am away from the group, sitting in the shadow of a tent, sorting out the plants I had collected while on the road. The herbs and flowers are stacked into a little neat pile in front, where a couple empty jars encircle them. I start to sort them into three sections: healing, cooking, and extra. It was the way my mother had I had taught me.

G _esha was nearby, securing a Halla onto one of the landships and tucking hair behind her ear. I was sitting on a nearby Aravel, trying to get her attention. However, she seem too preoccupied to notice. It wasn’t until my brother wordlessly gestured towards me that she gave me her attention._

_I was sorting out a pile of herbs into three different jars (a task not normally given to one so young, but I was proving adept in herbalism. I suppose somebody wanted to encourage it). I was staring the herb I was holding, eyebrows stitched together and lips pursed. My mother pulled herself up right next to me, her legs dangling over the edge and inspecting my work._

_“Quill, what is this herb?”_

_“Elfroot,” I said, quickly glancing up._

_“Why did you put them with the cooking herbs? Those are for healing.” Gesha picked up the herb and put it into the correct jar. “Alright, what did you need?”_

_“Mamae, what’s this?” I held up the plant so that it was right in front of her face. Grimacing, she pulled my hand a little away from her to see the gray herb that looked like long twisted fingers._

_“That would be Fel—” Gesha said, holding her tongue on the word._

_My face alights with realization, “Felandaris!” I replied, stumbling on the word._

_She kissed my head. “Good job, now where do you put it?”_

_“Um, cooking?”_

_“Nope.”_

_“Healing?” She raised her eyebrows and biting her lip. “Extra!”_

_She beams._

The voice of a passing soldier pulls me out of my thoughts. “Have you heard about those Dalish elves? I’ve heard some of them have been acting weird lately. Gathering up in some old fortress.”

“Psh, Dalish Elves? I think you must have heard them wrong.” His friend replies.

“Nah, I’m serious! The spymaster—”

“Probably knew you were eavesdropping again, Gennett, and made something up. I think she probably figured out you were the source of the rumors spreading about her and Commander Cullen being together.”

Gennet sighed. “I didn’t start that rumor!”

“Hm, just like last week when you got drunk and didn’t say you say her kissing commander  
Cullen?” The soldier laughed. Gennett punched his arm.

The two soliders walk past and I return to my work. When my jars are filled, I place them into my bag and pull out empty ones. I stop when I realize I only have two empty ones left. Irked, I open my bag again and rummage through its contents. There were plenty of mortars and pestles (how many of those did you need?), an herb book, bread, pieces of dried of up leaves and petals, dirt, a knife, a small bowl, and basically anything else you could think of, but no more jars.

Shit, I thought. I cross my arms, drumming my fingers, irritated that I forget to pack more. What do I do now? Slowly, I turn my heads towards the fire to see that most of the Inquisition members were eating dinner. In the past they had invited me to join them, but I had declined so many times that they stopped asking. Varric is telling a story, and the soldiers looking memorized by his every word. Even Cassandra is leaning in with her elbows on knees, looking like a bird about to take flight. Solas, as usual, is only looking mildly interested.

Maybe they have some extra jars? The prospect made me go numb. My eyes widen. I could just get up and ask. There’s nothing wrong with that? I stand up and make my way towards them (or as casually as one when they’re shaking). When Varric sees me he stops talking, which in turn causes everyone else to stop and look. They are, to say the least, surprised.  
Varric smiles. “Herald, you come to join us?”

“Ah, no.” I frown. Why was it always so hard to ask for stuff? Well, I didn’t know the language. That was part of them problem. “Um, do...you...have…” I stop, trying to find the words. Frustrated, I tell Solas what I want in elvish.

He raises his eyebrows, his chin in his hand. “You know the words, I am sure you can ask yourself.”

I glare at him before attempting to ask again. “I...need...more...bowls?” I look at Solas for confirmation. He raises a brow. “No, uh...what’s that word? Ah! Jars. I think. I picked more stuff…so yeah.”

I’m not sure if they are silent because it’s stupid request or if I sounded that dumb asking it. Varric looks positively gleeful. “Tell you what, I’ve got a couple. But if you want them you gotta tell us something about you.”

“What?”

“We’ve been traveling together for weeks and I swear, the only things I know about you is you are mage and an elf,” He scratched the gruff on his chin. “That and you’re the Herald.”  
Solas repeats his request. “That’s...that’s silly.” I said. This was really a dumb arrangement! However, the thought of not finishing my work made me cringed. I tap my foot. “Okay, fine.  
What...do you...want to know?”

“Anything you feel like sharing.”

“Like a story?”

“If it’s about you.”

“They’re…too long.” I sit down on the ground, crossed-leg. A tremor of excitement is coming from the soldiers. They have never seen me talk, let alone reveal something about myself. “Uh, okay, uh…”

“You have an unusual name for an elf,” Solas says, speaking slowly so I can understand him.

“Quill Lavellan. Where does that come from?”

I’m not sure if he was helping or trying to satisfy his own curiosity. I don’t know how answer the question in common, so I say in my native tongue, “My mother was strange. That’s why.”

Solas surprised me by laughing. “Your mother’s unusual tastes in names does not seem to fit within Master Varric’s request.”

They were really serious. “Fine! When I was little, I asked my mother the same question. She never gave me a straight answer. All she said was this, ‘I asked a Bard once what he used to write such beautiful poems. He said a good Bard only needs but two tools to master their craft—A parchment and a Quill.”

Solas translates and Varric appears crestfallen. “That’s it?”

“You didn’t say that it had to be a good fact. You just wanted a fact.” I say, standing up, holding a hand in front of my face. “The bowls?”

“You mean jars?” I blush.

He pulls them from his pack, a curious look on his face. “But still, why Quill?”

“Because she wasn’t going to name me parchment!” I said, exasperated.

I return to my shadowy corner and continue my work. I hardly notice the time as the camp starts to dispense, with soldiers slowly heading off into their tents and the fire growing dim. It wasn’t until a cool breeze washed over me that I looked up to see the empty landscape. I feel a little relieved that I’m practically alone. I set my bag down and feel my eyes start to droop. I should go to bed soon.

I clean up and head over to what’s left of the fire. I still down, and realize pretty quickly that I was wrong about people going to bed. Of course, there was Solas, staring out into the distance. It was a glazed expression, one that told me he wasn’t really seeing what he was looking at.

My instinct says I should leave, but the fire is still warm and it wasn’t that we have to talk to each other. I bring my legs closer to my chest, wrapping my hands around them. Pain tingles up my arm and I make a noise. It takes me by surprised because it’s not the pain I’m used to. Solas takes notices as I’m inspecting the mark on my hand. It’s glowing a bright green.

“Is the mark troubling you?” He questions.

“I’m not sure.” I reply.

He stares in fascination. “Have you done anything to relieve it?”

“I’m not sure what spell or ointment I could even use on this thing.”

He gestures to the empty seat next to him.

I hold my wrist closer to my chest, frowning. I’m sure by this point he knows how I feel about him. Yet here he was again, showing me he that there was another side to him that was not shrouded in arrogance. I couldn’t tell you why this man made me so agitated. Cassandra had given me a poorer impression but I was at least civil to her now. Varric, although a bit talkative, was kind and supportive in his own strange way. Even the companions back in Haven, I’ve made an effort to be friendly with most of them. But this man—elf—made me feel uncomfortable and suspicious. For now, I decide that it may be best to start setting aside my personal issues with the elf. After all, he was in charge of keeping my mark stable as he had done successfully for weeks now.

I move around the fire, taking the seat offered to me. I was not very close to him, only enough so I could put my arm out in front of me and he could inspect my hand with ease.  
His thumb runs over the palm, his fingers holding mine in place. I hear himself murmuring in elvish, but it is so quiet I can barely make out the words. He pinches my hand and a sensation of coolness and relief replaces the irritable throbbing. However, the spell shots up through my arm and the sensation is replaces with raw, agonizing soreness. I moan, taking my hand away and rubbing my arm.

He looks stunned by the effect the spell had on me. Somehow through the pulsing in my arm, I get up and retrieve my bag. I bring it back to the fire and rummage through the contents until I find a small, bottle containing a gray cream. This is a pain I know how to deal with.

I roll up my sleeve, twisting the material securely around my shoulder. I see a subtle change in his expression, going from stunned to appalled. How can I blame him? Even with the dim light of the fire, it’s not hard to notice that all that was left of my arm looks like it belongs to an aged woman, not a young elf. The skin from my hands to my shoulders are wrinkled, with blisters and scabs. The thin flesh is different hues of red, brown and pink.

“I apologize, I would normally do this in my tent.” I explain. I always wondered what it must have been like for the Inquisition when the first found me after the conclave exploded. They must have thought these old burns came from that fateful day. But no, these were old wounds. The only thing I gained from that day was the mark. He doesn’t say anything but just watches as I apply the cream onto my arm.

“The mark on your hand is making the pain from your burns worse? And you cannot perform healing spells on it.” He concludes. “But I have done this many times in the past few weeks.

Why is it now this has become an issue?”

“If I knew the answer, do you think I would be using creams?” I said. “I’ve tried to use magic on it before but, it would just cause more pain.” I grimace. “Remember, when you found me, I was half-dead. And in the days after, I was still recovering. I don’t think the person who burned me would have thought I would become the Herald.”

My words make him consider me for a moment. “The person who burned you?”

“Yes?” I said, confused.

“So, someone did that to you?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Someone burned you on purpose?”

I pull my sleeve back down. Damn it, there I go again. I’m not afraid of people in the Inquisition finding out about my past. In truth, I hardly have any secrets worth keeping. But there was a difference being confronted with new information someone found out about you and me revealing too much of myself. It’s obvious, after seeing a wound like that, you would want to know how one got it. It then becomes a game of testing the waters, dealing with inappropriate questions and subtle remarks to get you to reveal more about yourself than you intended too. I’ve found wearing long sleeves and dealing with my wounds in private does not raise such questions. However, this elf has managed to not once, but twice, seamlessly get me to reveal myself to him.

“I’d rather not talking about it.” I say, my voice curt. Flesh torn, blood dripping on the ground…blood…so much…shrieks of laughter….My breath hitches. I don’t notice how badly I’m trembling. I finish apply the ointment and feel a soothing sensation over my wounds. “I apologize, Solas. I think I’m just a little on edge,” I explain. “I’m going to bed.”

I leave him there by the fire, and walk over to my tent. I’m lucky that we have enough now so I can be myself. I slip onto the top of the blankets, the warm air from outside making them useless. I don’t even bother to take off my boots as I can feel my eyes already starting to droop, a numbness in my stomach and throat creeping up as I start to fall asleep.

Had the explosion at the conclave not happen, right now, I would have been in the warm land of the Free Marches, with my clan and my Keeper. I would have returned, mark-free, showing the clan that I was capable of becoming the First and they were putting their faith into the right person. I would have continued training, working harder than ever, elevated by how successful I had been at spying. I would have awarded my hard work by laying down with my Halla, indulging my passions by grooming and feeding them. I probably would slept near them, as I always did, their white thick fur making me far too hot and their loud snoring making it hard to sleep. But I missed them. Or, to be perfectly honest, I missed the familiarity of home. But even among the Lavellans, I missed that because my true home was far away from that clan.

My home is where my father taught me about Halla, where my mother nourished my passion for plants, and where my brother held me in his arms. I touched my burns. But that was something I could never have again for The Keeper took them all away from me. The thought of her causes me to toss and turn, unable to settle down despite how tired I felt. 

Then, quite suddenly, there is a warming sensations on forehead, and I open my eyes to see the blurry silhouette of someone above me. Suddenly, my crowded mind is replace with a blissful numbness and I find myself slipping into the Fade much easier than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [On hiatus. Going through some editing/major plot changes]


End file.
